


A Welcome Distraction

by syntheticrealities (orphan_account)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Sniper makes poor but effective attempts to goad a reaction from Spy, and bored mercenaries make for all kinds of shenanigans, i also claim no responsibility for Spy's voyeurism and/or Sniper's voice kink, where spy blatantly misuses his cloaking capabilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/syntheticrealities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spy proves how mischievious he can be when he's bored and realises he may have underestimated the boundaries of Sniper's patience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Welcome Distraction

It is a rare day in Teufort when it rains. But when it does, the heavens open and god help you if you're not under cover for the rest of the day. Most of the team had been banking on a call-off thanks to the poor weather: sometimes Administration had the odd sense of logic to decide that whilst it was perfectly acceptable to make men blow each other to pieces all day, it was not acceptable to have them running around in the wet, slipping over and generally catching colds.

Unfortunately, such pity had not been taken on them that day and as a result, the fighting today was poor at best and downright bothersome at worst. So after an hour into the first round, a stalemate of sorts had been reached wherein both teams holed themselves up wherever possible and half-heartedly exchanged gunfire. Both spies were also indisposed of as with no one out and about to kill and replace, there was little point to being on the field.

As it always was when they started around, Sniper didn't see what became of Spy. One moment he was there in respawn, the next he was gone. Today his only sign of being there at all (that Sniper had managed to pick up on) was a line of quick and rhythmic splashes leading away from the building as the Frenchman jogged out into the rain under the welcome cover of his cloak. Sniper had chosen a hide with little bother, as there was no one out to snipe anyway, and settled down for an unofficial day off. He even had the radio with him, burbling out old Queen songs quietly. Between that and the steady pattering of the rain against the corrugated iron roof, the time slipped by quite pleasantly. That was, until, a sudden but subtle trace of air crept along the back of his neck.

It made his skin crawl and he took his eye away from the sights for a moment to shiver the sensation away, rolling his shoulders in the warm space. He glanced behind him, but no one was there. Just to be sure, he slashed at the air with his kukri, but no BLU spy decloaked in the small space. If the wind had picked up and begun to force itself through the cracks and gaps in the walls then he'd just have to suck it up and think of hot showers and warm covers instead.

An hour passed in comfortable silence wherein the other team's Medic made the unwise decision to try and cross the courtyard before being picked off. It only took one trip back to respawn for Sniper to have his peace and quiet again, humming along to the old songs that turned up now and again he still knew the words for. The next thing to break his un-focused concentration was another skirl of wind. This time it was strong enough to lift the back of his jacket and kick the back of his hat up so it fell forwards over his eyes. Startled, he whirled around, but there was nothing in the open doorway aside from a fluttering scrap of an old newspaper. He cast a reproachful look out of the door before he settled the hat more firmly on his head and straightening his jacket before returning to his watch once more.

The third time his peace was broken was when he smelt the all-too familliar tang of cigarette smoke in the air. It wasn't the citrus-like one from the cigarettes the BLU Spy was fond of though, but instead the cinnamon and clove one that his red-clad counterpart preferred. Almost welcome for the distraction, even if it was in the shape of an irksome Spy and his maliciously misleading looks, Sniper set his rifle down and poked his head around the doorway, honestly expecting to see the Frenchman waiting outside and asking to be let in from the wet. But there wasn't anyone on the roof beside the hide and a check over the edge of the building told him that the other man wasn't skulking around down there either. Strange. Maybe the fellow had lit up elsewhere and the winds had been favourable to bring a curl of the smoke towards him. It seemed too convienient, but he doubted Spy would light up in the pouring rain when he could be inside pestering Sniper.

Allowing himself a few minutes to call memories of previous "pesterings" almost fondly, Sniper poured a new cup of coffee from his thermos and pretended the steam curling around his hide was the smoke that seemed to be a byproduct of Spy's very existence. It was a smell he'd come to asscosciate with the best kind of danger, that of the unknown, but also one he linked with slightly brighter times at Teufort when he could forget that he killed for a living and dedicate all of his unswayable focus to teasing shameful sounds from another man who even to this day, vehemently denied that he ever made such noises in his life thank you very much.

The bitter scent of instant coffee was a poor substitute however, so he pushed Spy from his mind and returned once more set his gaze on the muddy doorway to the building most of the BLUs were weathering the storm out in.

After that, interruptions came thick and fast. His hat was kicked by the wind again. Another skirl of fragrantly spiced smoke drifted in and out of the hide. His radio dropped out twice before it would return to playing music again. By now, Sniper had a small inkling of what was going on here, but if what he thought was happening was happening, it would just be best to let it occur and not force proceedings. When he stopped being startled by the random discrepancies in the environment however, things only seemed to get worse.

The wind took his hat clean off the next time, threatening to send it spiralling towards a muddy fate down below had he not caught it in time. The smoke only seemed to thicken-never there enough to make him certain Spy was hanging around, but never really leaving either. The wind across his neck became more tickilish if that was possible, almost obscene with how warm it was. Sniper's near-infinite patience was running dry in the stead of this ceaseless onslaught, so when the radio's channel began to flutter around for the fourth time that day, he sprung up from his seat in a coil of surpressed nervous energy and whilst his kukri made contact with nothing solid, the muffled sound of something falling back against the wall was all the confirmation he needed. For a long moment, the only sounds were those of the rain falling onwards and the radio blathering on in French thanks to whatever station it had mysteriously jumped to. Sniper smirked to himself at the fact that no blade rushed out to meet him and that no sounds of footsteps leaving the area were audible either.

As if he was oblivious to the game that was being played, he rather pointedly put the kukri back on its crate (perhaps making a rather concerted effort to makes his jeans go tight over his ass) before sitting back on his crate and shuffling around in mock attempts to find a comfortable position, convieniently giving anyone in the doorway a rather good view of his crotch. This was the first time Spy had pulled anything like this, but Sniper was do bored he'd go along with it.

For a long while he thought that he really had been hearing things, because the distractions stopped altogether. Perhaps Spy had left in disgust with how easily Sniper had gone along with whatever it was that he was doing or perhaps he had to leave then or risk bursting into laughter over Sniper's obvious attempts to show off his assets.

He was most thankful for being wrong however when not fifteen minutes later smoke began to fill the hide in earnest, blurring the shapes of the flyers pasted on the walls and forcing Sniper to take his aviators off just to be able to see down his scope. When the wind crossed the back of his neck again, it was accompanied by the faint sound of breath rattling around in a slim chest and the warmth of a lit cigarette dancing behind his ear. Said wind was also strong enough to work it's way right up under his shirt with warm fingers most unseasonable compared to the dreary weather outside. Not moving from his post, Sniper did his best to ignore how hot it was getting in the hide and his only outward sign of distraction was a faint pull at the corner of his lips.

Aggravated by this lack of response, the wind became insistent enough to drag sharply at the skin of his back, making his next steady exhale slightly deeper and hoarser than it should have been. He stretched out his long legs even further to accomodate whatever the odd weather was doing to what lay between his thighs. In response, the wind blew a cloud of clove-scented smoke around his head, so thick that it fogged the lens of his sights. When this too apparently didn't warrant enough of an invasion of privacy to goad a reaction, the wind changed tack and dove southwards instead, dragging it's cool fingertips over the bare skin of the small of his back revealed by how tightly he was hunched over his rifle.

At this, Sniper figured it was time to level the playing field a little and give Spy some small amount of satisfaction (as if he knew the Frenchman as well as he thought he did, he was hiding as much of a hard on as he was).

In the quiet of the hide, he murmured to himself offhandedly the same way he might mumble "gotcha" before a headshot:

"I don't know what game yer playin' here mate, but I hope you're havin' fun"

At that, he could feel the air behind him tremble as Spy restrained his mirth to a shaking of his cloaked shoulders. His murmured reply was quiet in only the way a trained sneak's could be:

_"I can stop if you'd like."_

Sniper responded with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. _No_.

Spy's torturous roamings increased gradually, almost without Sniper noticing, until his invisible hands were ghosting over the heat in his jeans. He swallowed uncomfortably, but otherwise kept the facade up for as long as he could. Apparently, this was not the reaction Spy desired and he murmured again in that horribly enticing husky whisper of his:

_"You would be wise not to take your eye from your scope, Monsieur Sniper. Ze rain may let up and then you would have people to shoot."_

Before Sniper could consider the warning obviously in those words, spattered so cruelly with thick French purrs, Spy had somehow wormed himself under the windowsill Sniper was resting his rifle on and was working busily but somehow silently to free the Australian first from his jeans and then his boxers. Had anyone been watching the laser dot that was Sniper's sights at that particular moment, they might have wondered what made it jump around on the floor so erratically before settling a little less gently again.

What caused this shuddering of the laser sights was the fact that at that very moment, Sniper had had a most uncharacteristic shudder ripple through his body, courtesy of the surprise Spy that was currently using that stupid lying tongue of his every way he knew how (which was a considerable number) on Sniper's exposed erection to try and ellicit something, anything from him. He didn't dare look down from the sights for fear of prompting Spy to stop what he was doing or to see the odd image of his cock disappearing down an invisible throat, but his next exhale was rather ragged and he muttered a hoarse warning:

"I don't know how long I can do this thing for Spook-"

For a moment the warmth surrounding his cock left and Spy murmured huskily from between his knees:

" _Do not make so much noise, Monsieur Sniper. What a shame it would be if I had to leave to put a knife in ze back of a certain BLU Spy who may be hanging around."_

Sniper replied with a tense blink to clear his vision and an audible gulp. Without another word, Spy resumed his torturous pleasuring, to be rewarded with a strangled moan that Sniper stiffled in his chest before he could voice it. He could actually feel the shit bag smirk around his dick then and in retribution, he shifted forwards slightly to bring the sights closer to his eye, effectively gagging the Spy by surprise. He had a smirk of his own at the amusing sounds that produced, but if it were possible, Spy only worked harder to draw him out.

Judging by the number of songs that passed on the radio, dimly audible over the heartbeat pressing against his eardrums, Sniper figured that Spy had kept this fiasco up for well over forty minutes. If anything, it was only a testament to Sniper's patience as during the entire time he made no effort to seize the man crouched between his legs, bend him over the nearest available surface and show him just what he was restraining right then.

Spy also got off immensely on the fact that whilst this was going on, someone must have been stupid enough to exit the building Sniper was marking, because when he tensed up and Spy reflexively paused, waiting for an orgasm that didn't come, his ears rang as the rifle was fired and Sniper relaxed again. His curiosity got the better of his desire to remain as detached from the situation as possible and refusing to believe he was asking this question, Spy halted his efforts and murmured quietly:

" _Did you get him?_ "

"Sure did. While gettin' deepthroated no less."

He did not look down at the cloaked man between his legs, but he grinned wide enough to break the unspoken vow that neither would react to the other's prescence. As punishment, Spy finally decloaked and captured Sniper's lips in a rough kiss, frowning with disapproval as he did so, electing to palm him off instead. Sniper seemed more than satisfied with this however, inwardly pleased that Spy was the one who had broken character first. At least, that is what Spy would have done had the Australian not exploded from his seat in a flurry of long legs and hands fisting in his shirt.

For the second time that day, the laser sight danced across the ground as the barrel of the rifle unexpectedly disappeared from the window, for the gunman's hands were much more occupied with trying to contain the furious and over-sexed Frenchman currently forcing his tongue down his throat to worry about such petty things as keeping a steady hand on his rifle.

All thoughts of staying quiet were gone with the wind as Sniper roughly picked Spy up by his collar and slammed him against the wall. Shamelessly and without missing a beat, he locked his legs around the taller man's waist, ignoring how his partner's bare cock was making a mess of his suit pants and instead fumbling with the buttons on Sniper's shirt. Within ten seconds of that having happened, Spy was already well on his way to leaving a sizeable love bite at the join between Sniper's neck and collarbone. Sniper couldn't restrain his moan at that, much to the delight of his partner and he yanked up the hem of his balaclava to sloppily kiss just under his ear, muttering hoarsely as he did so:

" _I'm gonna fuck you into the wall._ "

"I'd like to see you try."

"That a challenge mate?"

" _Non_ , it is an _invitation_."

That was all the encouragement Sniper needed, snaking Spy's belt out through his pants with a snap and somehow keeping the Frenchman pinned againsy the wall whilst hoiking his pants off in one clean motion. All the while, Spy was muttering to himself in French, cursing Sniper for a tactless bastard and blessing him as an angel in one breath. Almost as an afterthought, Sniper roughly shoved two fingers into Spy's mouth, felt some of his bones melt when the other man looked straight into his eyes and moaned like a whore, and slicked himself up before thrusting into the Spy with the most amount of force one could apply to the phrase "with care".

Sniper set a punishing pace in between Spy's hissed declarations of "you call that fucking me into the wall?!" and " _Mon Dieu_ , your age is getting to you if you are this slow!" Sniper grinned against the exposed skin of Spy's neck (as at some point the better half of the front of his shirt had been torn open), angling upwards to hit the ungrateful swine's prostate with each thrust until he had turned the Frenchman into a quaking shell of a man who forgot his second language and could only speak in French pleas for mercy.

It took every inch of Sniper's self control to bring Spy to climax before himself, but it was a mighty close thing and stars danced before the Australian's eyes with the force of it-Spy had no right to wind him up like that and then claim he was being a disappointing fuck. Then again, that was all he ever did. The git seemed to have a talent for cursing him one moment and declaring his undying love the next. But then again, as they were breathing heavily into each other's chests as if they were horny teenagers and not grown men who should know better, when did he ever expect Spy to treat him any differently?

For a long while, they remained that way, Sniper's knees shaking with the combined force of that escapade and the effort of holding Spy's weight up against the wall, Spy drifting his kid-gloved hands across the bushman's back whilst humming some French song or other to himself blissfully. The hide smelt of smoke and sex and oiled gun barrels and Snipe could not think of any other way he'd have it.

"Next time...Yer workin'...It'll be _me_ groping your ass."

"I look forward to it, _mon cher._ "


End file.
